


Breath of Life

by nikarte



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, M/M, Prostitution, Throne of Glass AU, also itd probably be lance who shares the same fate as sam and i couldnt bring myself to write that, and lysandra is a mistress, but if i did that i think id hurt too many people, but yes, i love lysandra so muuuuch, i wanted to uhhhhh be a dick and have keith and lances fate be the same as celaena and sams?????, in which lotor is arobynn hamel, keith is aelin, lance iiiis new
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 12:52:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13718085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nikarte/pseuds/nikarte
Summary: Throne of Glass AU- I had too many routes that i wanted this AU to go down so this is one of them that didn't make the final idea and was made into a one-shotFor those that dont know Throne of Glass: Keith is a medieval assassin, Lance was going to be one too but Lotor had other plans for him





	Breath of Life

**Author's Note:**

> title is from that one snow white and the huntsman ost that florence and the machine did because it's a very throne of glass song in my opinion
> 
> uhm warningssss:  
> prostitution, descriptions of violence (bone breaking), aaand hinted sexual abuse.
> 
> enjoy this chicken scrach

 

 

 

He was seven when Lotor found him in an alleyway, hands trembling as his older sister tipped out the contents of a tin can into his open palms. Lance hadn’t even heard his approach, too busy shivering as Mor separated the coins and counted them under her breath. 

He remembers yelping when Lotor had appeared beside him, bent at the waist but still towering above the children, purring his arrival between him and his sister.

Mor had shoved him behind her, scowling up at the stranger and standing tall as Lance’s shield.

Lotor wasn’t threatened though- not by a ten-year-old girl and younger-still brother wearing tattered and stained rags. No, Lotor was a man- more like a looming shadow in his black tailcoat and plum vest, stark against the paleness of his skin and hair. He’d chuckled lowly at the sight of two orphan children cowering before him. Well, cowering orphan  _ child _ . Mor didn’t cower- she’d pushed a hand to Lance’s chest to keep him firmly pressed against the wall behind her, standing on the tips of her toes so she could stick her nose up at the stranger as he rolled a silver piece between his long fingers.

He remembers being torn between following the movements of the coin or the playful smirk on the man’s face, his brain arguing on whether he should plead for the money or run from the danger.

Turns out, he didn’t have to choose. Lotor had flicked the coin into the tin Mor still had in her hand by her hip, his smile devilish and  _ knowing  _ as the children gaped, deciding for them that they weren’t going to run.

“There’s plenty more where that came from, kittens.”

Promises of food, clothes, shelter, and an education lured the orphans out from the alleyway and into Lotor’s claws.

 

-

 

It was months later, when they’d been fed to good health and started studying the basics of reading and writing, that a wooden sword had been thrust into their hands.

“I thought we were going to school today?” Mor had asked tentatively, her wrist bent from the weight of the weapon.

“You  _ are  _ at school,” Lotor had supplied, twirling his own wooden sword around with a roll of his wrist. “You will need to learn how to defend yourself no matter where you end up here, and you will use the skills in your classes to pay your way.”

Confused, the siblings looked at each other, worry pinching their brows.

“You didn’t think I’d let you stay here for free now did you? Tsk, there’s no need for those silly frowns, I’ll forge you into fine workers. You’ll pay your debts in no time. Now, fix your posture, you’re not a goose.”

Lance wasn’t given enough time to consider the words before Lotor had smacked the sword into his lower back and the training had begun.

 

-

 

As it turns out, Lance and Mor weren’t the only orphans that Lotor had swept up off the streets- another boy, a boy called Keith just around Lance’s age, had been there for years already.

In fact, the mansion that they had been eager to acknowledge as home was also home to what Lotor called the Guild- men and women training and living and “working” in the manor, all in debt to Lotor and loyal enough to work until their debts were paid. Lance had never seen anybody move away though- was always questioning why over a dozen people still lived here after decades under Lotor’s roof without being able to pay off their debts.

He remembers overhearing there were more people in the opposite half of the manor- a half of the manor that was blocked off completely to Guild members and to the children- that also worked for the master and weren’t allowed outside. That they used their bodies in a way that wasn’t  _ fighting _ for work. He hadn’t understood what that meant at the time, only knew that every evening and all weekend, strangers would crowd the halls and parties would tremble the house in that half of his living space for hours on end.

Whenever Lance had tried to question Lotor about it, he’d dismissed him with a laugh or a smack to the back of the head, “You’ll understand that business when you’re of age, boy. I’m looking for a prodigy.”

 

It was clear that Lance wasn’t the prodigy that Lotor had been hoping for.

Well over a year passed and it was obvious that Lance was no swordsman- his wrist tired with the weight of the sword no matter how many hours he trained, how many times Lotor slapped his wrists, how many weights he tried to lift. He could never remember to keep his feet flat on the floor, could never remember to hold his weapon loose enough to swing but tight enough that his opponent wouldn’t slap it out of his hand.

“How on earth are you meant to cut open a man’s chest with a grip like that?” Lotor had snapped, batting at his wrist and therefore leading him to drop the stick. “Show him how it’s done,” he’d hear Lotor bark to somebody else as he scrambled to pick up the sword standing straight just in time to see Keith demonstrate the perfect form with ease. Then he’d smack the sword from Lance’s fingers and twist his body so Lance’s was pinned against the floor, face void of emotion as his knee pressed down between Lance’s shoulder blades.

“You fight like a real Guild member,” Lotor would praise, patting Keith on the back and brushing the dirt from his shoulder.

 

Even Mor was far better off. In the same time it took Lance to learn how to lunge without toppling with the weight of a real sword, Mor had managed to sweep the opposing student of their feet in three quick steps.

With time, training had turned into Lotor’s mentoring of Mor and Keith, battling them against each other whilst Lance played around with the weapons he  _ could  _ lift properly. 

He wasn’t too bad with a bow and arrow-  _ a natural sharpshooter  _ Mor had one day pointed out with a ruffle of his hair, much to Lance’s delight. “But not enough,” Lotor had added in passing, turning on his heel to watch Keith tear a training dummy to shreds.

 

-

 

He was exploring the gardens when he had what you could call class as his first real conversation with Keith.

He hadn’t meant to stumble upon the raven-haired boy in the middle of a small red rose bush maze. Keith was perched on the curved edge of a circular stone fountain, his hand in the water as he played with the paddle stones.

For a moment, Lance was distracted by the pretty growth of red peonies that framed the bottom of the bowl-shaped fountain. They must have been in the middle of the maze.

“What are you doing?” Lance had asked and Keith startled in his seat, almost toppling forward into the water. Lance hadn’t bothered to hide his snicker, just stepped forward to look at what Keith was playing with in the fountain, careful not to step onto the peonies.

“What are  _ you _ doing?”

If he hadn’t known any better, he’d think that Keith’s nose sounded stuffed, his voice a little wet even though he’d tried to be snarky.

“I’m hiding from Lotor,” he admitted with a shrug, picking up a stone and letting it fall back into the water with a plop. He’d left his dress jacket back inside the manor with Mor- she was being introduced to one of the older female Guild members in the middle of the party they threw every Saturday. Lance had already eaten so nothing was compelling him to stay in the room and stand near all the strangers and Lotor.

“I’m-… same,” Keith had finally said, looking back towards the water in the fountain. Lance did him a favour and pretended not to see when he wiped his eyes and cheeks on his jacket.

“I don’t see why  _ you’d  _ wanna’ hide from Lotor. He’d probably sit you on his shoulders and run you around the house just to show you off in front of all those people.” He hadn’t meant to snap, but he knew that he sounded sharper than he’d intended when Keith shot him a glare.

“You think he likes  _ me? _ ” Was the question Lance hadn’t expected back.

“Well, duh. You’re the best at fighting, he always treats you like a prince or something.”

At that, Keith had physically flinched.

“H-he does not!” Keith had yelled, face quickly turning red with frustration.

“Cool your jets, how was that an insult?” He swished his hand through the water and splashed Keith’s feet a bit. “Need some water to cool down?”

“Shut up, Lance.”

“Why? I’m just playing around, I didn’t mean it in-”

“Just don’t talk to me.” Keith said as he spun around and jumped down from the fountain, squishing a couple of peonies beneath his boots when he landed. For a moment Keith’s frown faltered, looking at the flowers with what looked like remorse, before he remembered his anger and set off storming towards one of the openings in the hedge.

Lance didn’t follow him. Instead, he sat down by the broken flowers and tried to fix them.

 

-

 

In the following weeks, Lance had once again slipped from Lotor’s Saturday gala to make his way through the maze to find the bowl-shaped fountain. He’d told himself that he didn’t care about whether Keith was there or not. But he didn’t ignore the small flare of satisfaction he felt when he found him sat on the fountain edge again.

“Hey, Prince.” Not exactly an insult in his opinion, but it seemed to push Keith’s buttons enough to urge him into jumping off the fountain again, this time making an effort to avoid the peonies, before taking the first few steps towards an exit. “Hey, wait!” He’d yelped, following him. “Wait, I’m sorry, I’ll stop,” he promised.

“What do you want?” was Keith’s reply, his tongue sharp enough to make Lance’s steps falter.

“I just- I think I- I don’t?” He’d paused in his strides, scratching the back of his neck. “I think I’m just a bit lonely.” Which was true. Mor had taken to finding the older Guild members on her own now, no prompt from Lotor needed. She’d barely looked at Lance today.

“We’re orphans, aren’t you used to that by now?” It didn’t sting as much as Lance felt it should have.

“I mean, no? Did you not live with your family before you came here?”

Keith turned to scowl at him, “No. That’s kind of what being an orphan means- I didn’t  _ have  _ a family.”

Lance rolled his eyes, “I meant an orphanage. Surely you had a family in the orphanage before Lotor found you.”

Again, Keith’s scowl only seemed to deepen as he was silent for a few heartbeats.

“... No. I didn’t live in an orphanage. Lotor found me washed up on a river bank.” His words were diced but quiet.

“A river bank? Why?”

Keith groaned, “Isn’t that a bit too personal?”

Lance shrugged, “I guess. But we live together and I mean- doesn’t that kind of make us like brothers?” It almost cut his tongue in half to say that out loud, but that’s how Lance saw it in a way. It’s not like he had any blood-brothers to compare any of his friendships to.

“No. No it doesn’t, not at all.”

“Oh…”

The two boys shuffled a little then, the awkwardness between them settling heavy like a cling-film sheet. That is until Keith’s curiosity got the better of him.

“If you lived in an orphanage then why did Lotor take you off the streets? Why did you go with him?”   
Lance’s cheeks burned, “I didn’t. The orphanage was shut down so we all split up and started begging on the streets a few weeks before Lotor found me and Mor.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

And the sheet had started settling again- and it was too suffocating for Lance to handle it for long. “Do you wanna’ play tag?”

Keith blinked, “Tag?”

“Yeah, tag.”

A beat of silence passed. Lance blinked expectantly, Keith sniffed. Then “Sure. You’re it.”

And even though he was already spinning on his heel and running, Lance squeaked. “Why am  _ I  _ it?” Before darting after him into the maze.

 

-

 

It took some time, but Lotor eventually started to spare a thoughtful glance towards Lance. As soon as he had turned fifteen, he’d taught himself to fire an arrow to the centre of a bullseye whilst dizzy, sometimes with fingers that Lotor had recently snapped backwards to teach him how to writhe out of bondage and tricky situations.

That wasn’t the reason for the newfound attention from the Guild master, though. No, he taught himself to shoot in private, using the time it took Lotor to praise Keith and Mor to learn how to defend himself. He’d become quite handy with a dagger too- he’d taken to swinging it around his wrist and fingers like Lotor had done with the first silver piece he’d ever tossed at him. One flick of his wrist had his dagger twirling around his fingers and back into his palm again.

Lance mourned for his fingers; always painted in yellow, purple and black bruises that he lathered in ointment every night, stinging any fresh rope burns or cuts he’d earn during the day. Though they were nothing like the pains the others would suffer, Lance had one day discovered. He had once nicked himself with a throwing knife when Lotor had dropped his own sword with a loud  _ clang _ and yelled in the middle of a training session with Keith: “You _ can’t do it? _ ”

Despite having become somewhat closer to the boy after weekly explorations in the gardens together, Lance had snickered to himself at first- having discovered that Keith, Lotor’s prodigy, couldn’t do everything  _ his highness _ could ask of him. The smirk hadn’t lasted long though. Not as he watched Lotor take a forceful grip of Keith’s right wrist in both hands before snapping it like a twig.

He’d heard the cracking of bones only for a moment before Keith’s voice had cried out in the training room, Mor’s gasp muffled behind her own hands as she too watched Keith’s wrist flop uselessly.

“You  _ will  _ do it. I will keep breaking that wrist of yours until you learn to use your left one  _ properly _ .” Then he’d thrust Keith’s sword back into his hand- his left hand- ignoring the fact that tears were streaming down Keith’s face only for a moment before he was kicking him in the stomach. “Tears?  _ Tears?  _ I’m  _ helping you  _ and you have the stomach to  _ cry? _ Pathetic!”

The anger that was rippling in Lotor’s throat forced Keith to stand upright, forced his tears away. It was then that Lance had seen in Keith’s glittering eyes that he wasn’t Lotor’s prodigy. He was his prisoner.

 

Lance had refused to move from his spot on the floor throughout the entirety of that training session. He was still seated, still half-heartedly playing with his throwing knife when Lotor had shoved Keith out and turned toward Mor.

“See that he goes to a nurse to set his wrist.”

He didn’t waste time watching her scramble away, instead turning towards Lance. He’d expected to be yelled at too- expected a beating around the head or a kick to the legs what with the sour mood he was in. At the time, he was worried that he’d snap  _ Lance’s  _ wrist too, that he’d had enough of his lacklustre students and was now about to force him to learn how to use a sword.

Instead, Lotor crouched in front of Lance and watched his fingers slow down around the knife apprehensively.

“How is it that you can twirl that blade between your fingers like a pro, yet you can’t wrap your thick skull around  _ proper _ steel?” Lotor would murmur, snatching the blade in one of his own hands and Lance’s wrist in the other.

_ This is it,  _ Lance remembers thinking.  _ He’d going to slit my wrist and teach me better than to play with knives instead of swords. _

But Lotor merely paused, and smoothed his thumb over Lance’s palm and fingers, flickering his eyes over the skin on his hands for a few long, invasive moments before they travelled up to his face. 

“Perhaps your hands were built for shafts that weigh less than steel.”

 

That night, Lance snuck from his room after curfew to knock on Keith’s door. It opened hesitantly, the deep blue of his eyes peering through the crack.

“Why are you here?” He’d whispered, not moving other than the tightening of his fingers on the side of the door.

“Can I come in?” He replied, eyes on the sling that was hanging around Keith’s neck.

“Why?”

Silence, then. Lance didn’t know how to put it into words.

“... Just let me in, Keith.”

More silence. Before Keith’s eyes flicker for a moment and he steps aside to make room for Lance.

 

-

 

It was a couple of days later that Lance started waking up to gifts.

More ointments, bags of cosmetics, tubes of butter and cream that smelled like vanilla and aloe vera, fine pieces of jewellery and even finer sets of clothes.

Lotor even refrained from leaving marks on him. Sure, he’d smack and beat Lance in places that his clothes would hide if he’d stepped out of line, providing cosmetics for the times when Lotor’s fingers itched too much to stop himself from back-handing Lance across the cheek. However, he seemed to save it for the other two students whenever their shoulders would sag, or their arms would tire.

Mor stopped looking like Lance’s sister and more like a stranger. Not that they’d ever been  _ that  _ similar looking- they were siblings in the orphanage, not in blood. Mor’s tan but not-quite-brown skin and flaxen hair made sure of that considering that Lance was darker in every sense other than his eyes, but the dirt and grime on their skin and hair after living on the streets made them look like siblings.

Now? Now Mor’s hair was lighter than ever, sometimes almost white in the sunlight when she let it loose, skin a delicate golden beneath the loose fitted tunic she wore to train. She was pretty, Lance had always thought. Somebody more worthier of oils and creams that soften your hair than Lance was.

So why was Lotor running his fingers down  _ Lance’s  _ golden skin? Reminding  _ him  _ to use his ointments and to use a sparing amount of his new fragrances that Lotor would supply in pretty bottles? Why not the others?

 

-

 

“I hate this house,” Keith had whispered to the ceiling one night.

They were lay side by side, their arms and legs barely touching, but close enough for Lance to be able to hook his pinkie finger with Keith’s. They’d taken to vacating to Keith’s room whenever they had the spare time- it was the only room that Lotor refused to personally visit on regular occasion.

“Lotor saved us,” Lance had to whisper back, not having the courage to agree out loud. 

“Did he fuck,” he spat, hand bristling and clenching beside Lance’s. His own fingers twitched. “Lotor picked us up from whichever wet  _ dump _ he found us in so he could mould us into murderers.”

“I… I thought he was training us to defend ourselves.”

Keith snorted, “Then you’re even stupider than you look.”

The boy bristled but didn’t argue, hand torn between holding onto Keith’s or pulling away.

After a few long silent seconds Keith made the decision for him, turning his own over to slide it beneath Lance’s so their palms were flat against one another, fingers hesitating before tangling together.

“I didn’t… You’re not stupid, Lance,” he murmured with a tentative squeeze of his hand, which Lance returned. “We just got dealt a shitty hand in life.”

Any life that starts out in an orphanage wasn’t meant to end anywhere good- Lance had discovered that much early on. Ever since he’d been told about what being an orphan meant, he knew he’d go nowhere in life other than the end of the street to beg for a copper piece. That’s just the kind of life orphans lead. But Keith..

“What was your hand?” Lance dared to ask. He didn’t know if Keith had ever even seen the inside of an orphanage- didn’t know if  _ he  _ knew what it was like to live on the streets or to beg for money. Keith was stolen from the side of a riverbank sure, but before that...

And Keith, silent as a tomb, was reluctant to tell. It took a few long, silent minutes of Lance’s patience draining like an hourglass before he said anything.

“I had a family,” he whispered, fingers clutching Lance’s who squeezed back in return. “They were th-” he cut himself off with a short growl.

“They were the what..?”

“.. I had a family. That’s all you need to know,” he spat, but didn’t let go of Lance’s hand- if anything his grip only tightened and Lance squeezed in understanding despite  _ not  _ really understanding as much as he’d like to. Keith having a family could have meant anything to Lance-  _ could  _ have been an orphanage, could have been a crowd of misfit children in a damp alley, could have been anything. They could have been aliens for all Lance knew.

“Can you go back?”

The silence that followed the question made Lance uneasy. Keith’s grip persisted, and Lance had to turn his head to see if he was okay after a few more long seconds. Midnight eyes stared up at the ceiling, his eyebrows relaxed and his face smooth as he opened his mouth.

“Never. They’re gone.” The grip on Lance’s hand started to hurt, but it made him happy. It was better than Keith keeping it to himself- than feeling nothing.

“Then.. if you were to get out of here, where would you go?”

Keith’s eyes drifted down to the hand that he was holding, and he brushed his thumb along the side of Lance’s.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I’d find somewhere. When I have enough money that I could hide from Lotor- when I’ve learned enough about the states- then I’ll go anywhere. Anywhere away from here.”

Lance nodded, looking down at their hands too with an uncertain feeling brewing in his stomach- the unbridled sense of jealousy. Not of Keith leaving, but of whoever got to stand by him when he did.

“Don’t think I’m leaving without you, either,” was Keith’s follow-up. It had Lance’s head whipping up so quickly he was sure he’d almost given himself rug burn.

“What?”

The raven smiled, a subtle curve of his lips that bore too much pain behind it for such a young boy. Not that Lance was any better off.

“You didn’t think I’d be leaving without you, did you?”

He did. Lance really did believe that, didn’t think for a second that he was the person he would want to take him with him- and it must have shown on his face because Keith’s smile dropped. He turned onto his side to look at the brunette seriously, a grave drip to his tone.

“Lance.. I’m getting us out of here. The first chance I get, we’re leaving. Together. I promise.”

There was some small part of Lance that was doubtful, but the dark flicker in Keith’s eyes made him believe.

 

-

 

Lotor stopped making him attend training with Mor and Keith.

Instead, he was guided to the opposite side of the manor and into a room of velvet red curtains and a small handful of girls that sat on matching velvet cushions.

There, a woman called Lysandra  _ praised  _ him for his curved posture, the way he would twist his wrist prettily and for the beautiful dips of his body. In there, he wasn’t beaten other than a few light smacks into submission and position. In that room he was taught  _ a different way to knock a man onto his back _ , Lady Lysandra had told him.

Lance remembers nights sneaking through the halls after hours to sit on Keith’s bedroom floor with him to make up for the fact they wouldn’t even see each other in training anymore, sharing with each other what they’d learned in their own lessons. After a while, Keith had started to show Lance a few methods that would help him defend himself without a weapon, whilst the brunette would share small tips and tricks on building charisma- how to use words to manipulate a person. He’d decided it was best to keep the more  _ adult  _ methods he was starting to hear about to himself for the time being.

 

“Do you remember that time in the rosebush maze?”

Keith rolls his shoulders, stretching his arms high above his head. “Which time?”

“You know,” Lance twirls a dagger through his fingers. “The first time we played tag together.”

The other boy hums in acknowledgement, crouching down to untie his laces and throw his shoes across his room.

“What about it?”

“You told me that we weren’t anywhere close to being brothers… not like I had been with the boys at the orphanage.” He stopped playing with his knife and instead lifted his legs to cross them on Keith’s bed, watching the other boy strip off his training tunic and pull on his sleeping sweats.

“Again. What about it?”

Lance chews on his lip then, feeling kind of foolish for bringing the topic up. He’s silent as Keith pulls his hair back into a hair tie, dropping down on the bed beside him.

“I was just wondering what made you think like that. I mean we- you and me- are in the same situation… right? We’ve been through the same sorta’ stuff. We don’t have our own  _ real  _ family, never have, so why can’t that mean that we find family in each other?”

He knows he shouldn’t have said anything before he even finishes speaking. He knows Keith well enough now to know that  _ feelings  _ aren’t really his thing- that  _ family  _ isn’t his thing- the topic frustrates him. So he’s fully prepared for him to get grouchy, for Keith to maybe even kick him in the side, push him off the bed, out the room. 

What he doesn’t expect is the silence.

In fact, the silence stretches long enough that Lance has to look up. Keith is already looking at him. He takes this moment of being close to Keith to take in some of his details. The slow blink of his tired eyes- hooded, framed with black and blue bruises, bloodshot and… glittering. His skin is suffering with the lack of sustenance for a boy becoming a young adult, bruised and blotchy.

Then he blinks and looks away, not-so-subtly leaning against Lance’s side for what could either be for comfort of to support his tired body.

“I’m not like you, Lance.” He murmurs.

Lance snorts because  _ duh _ . There are times that the two of them couldn’t be further from  _ similar  _ but… “Well I mean, I thought we at least get along now. We have _ some _ things in common.”

“I meant about the entire family thing. You were born in an orphanage. The orphanage was your family because you don’t know what it’s like to have a blood relative.” He starts to slump a little bit more, leaning more into Lance’s side- who moves his hand a little to rest on the bed behind Keith, awkwardly trying to support him a little. “I do.”

“So… you weren’t always..?”

Keith shakes his head. “I said that night in the maze that living together doesn’t make us remotely like brothers because I  _ had  _ a brother. I could never look up to any man, not just Lotor, as a father because I  _ had  _ a father. I had a mother.”

The candle on Keith’s bedside table flickers, the wax nearly melted completely.

“What… what happened?”

He doesn’t know if he should have asked- he probably shouldn’t have. But Lance likes to think that they could maybe.. trust each other with things like this now.

And apparently so does Keith, because he sighs quietly. “Our house was ambushed by some… somebody. Somebody trying to put an end to my family bloodline. I only made it out because of one of the cooks- she dragged me from the kitchen and outside. She put me on a horse, threw a cloak over me and told me where to go and told me she’d be right behind me. That she was going to try to save my brother- my parents- but when I turned to look back, to see if they were going to follow me, the house went up in flames.”

Lance shivers, feels Keith shake against him too and moves his hand a little closer, risking putting it on the other boy’s waist in comfort. The raven leans into it, letting out a ragged breath.

“One of the ambushers had seen the cook send me off though- I suspect he killed her before chasing after me. He ended up cornering me into a forest, my horse too big to make it over a river bank bridge. It collapsed and I fell into the water. Woke up with Lotor standing over me.”

His head is resting completely on Lance’s shoulder now, but he doesn’t mind.

He’d never known- never would have guessed that Keith had a  _ real  _ family. Had a life before this one. One that was comfortable and maybe even happy. He wanted more than anything to ask  _ why _ . Why were his family targeted? Were they noble? What was it like to be happy with blood family? Why did all that have to end? Who did it?

But he figured if Keith wanted him to know, he’d tell him in time. So instead..

“What were they like? Your parents?”

Keith pauses, then slowly lifts his head so that he can look at Lance properly.

There’s more silence- more time in which they study each other, Lance trying not to stare too hard at the bruises.

Then finally, “I don’t remember.”

The flame of the candle trembles one last time, then flickers out, leaving them in the dark.

 

-

 

On his eighteenth birthday, Lance woke up late in the afternoon to a hot breakfast and more than just one maid.

Once he’d eaten they bathed him in pastel pink bubbles, snipping at his hair and filing at his nails, drying him in their softest towels and dabbing powdered cosmetics onto his cheeks. Lotor had left an outfit on his closet door that the maids had unwrapped carefully. It wasn’t like the tunics or waistcoats that Lance was used to, but a long piece of fabric that swept from Lance’s shoulders and down his torso, clinging to his waist but swaying around his legs whenever he took a step. It was a sheer white material that made his skin look beautifully darker, golden glitter twinkling every time the fabric shifted. The middle of his chest and all his arms were left on show, and the dress was cut down on either side of his legs, revealing stretches of smooth, silky skin. The maids sat him down and painted delicate patterns in gold along his skin from his shoulders down to his wrists, along one side of his neck, and from the outside of his upper thighs down to his ankles.

They spent hours working on Lance’s body to make him look and smell beautiful- and he  _ felt  _ beautiful as he was guided out of his room and down the staircase in the evening.

“Look at you,” Lotor had purred, and it had sent a ball of uneasiness curling in the pit of Lance’s stomach as he felt those eyes rake down his body. “Now don’t you look like a pretty little gift? What lovely wrapping.” He’d stepped forward to meet Lance at the bottom of the stairs, smoothing the back of his fingers along Lance’s cheek, running them over the only part of the dress that covered either side of his chest, careful not to smudge the golden paint.

He remembers seeing Mor and Keith stood behind him, their hair tied back and faces sweaty- no doubt having just finished training.

He remembers Mor’s face, eyes wide and in awe of Lance’s attire, a small smile curling on her lips as she hugged her ribs. He remembers Keith’s face too. Red and shiny from the exertion of training, eyes following where Lance’s outfit both clung to and swooped around his body, mouth parted slightly.

Lance remembered thinking that, once upon a time, he’d have grinned. He’d have thought he’d made Keith jealous because wasn’t it obvious? Lance was the favourite now- he was the lucky one now, he would have thought.

But when he looked over to Keith’s face, Lance didn’t feel like he’d won anything. His eyes weren’t happy for Lance, or dark with anger or jealousy. They were wide with horror, his hand twitching at his side as though he wanted to reach out for him.

At the time, Lance didn’t know  _ exactly  _ why that was, but he could have guessed.

 

-

 

Seven years later and Lance understood.

 

Once again, he finds himself in a dress of sheer fabric, but this time it’s a dark obsidian. The glitter that twinkles in the lights look like stars. A maid had applied coal along the lines of his eyelids but otherwise had left the cosmetics to a bare minimum, only applying a little to his neck to hide some vicious bruises made by his last client.

“You are a birthday gift tonight,” Lysandra reminds him from the doorway. “Tonight, you are to please Altea’s most notorious Guild member- hence why you needed to prep yourself before dressing for him.”

Lance nods, but otherwise he doesn’t reply. He’s found that he’s had to force himself to speak over the past few days, noticing that his vocal chords weep when he so much as whispers. He might have to use his voice tonight depending on what his client wants, and he figured he’d best save what’s left of it just in case.

So instead of speaking, he lets a maid slide a veil of midnight over the lower half of his face before stepping back, giving him room to stand. He wasn’t painted this time- wearing nothing other than the blanket of starlight that drapes along his body.

“Perfect,” Lysandra says, before gesturing for him to follow her out of his room and down the hall. They walk in silence, only the rustling of Lysandra’s heavy gown to break it as they made their way to the client’s room where she raps her knuckles on the door.

“How long do I…” he risks, eyes flickering between the Mistress and the door.

“As long as he wants. Stay with him for the night,” she says, nodding in reassurance. Seven years in the business and he had never done full nights before. He was too popular for that.

He doesn't have long to consider how it might be different though before the door opens, his breath catching behind the veil as it revealed an adult Keith Kogane.

“Lotor’s gift to you,” Lysandra had smiled, pushing gently onto Lance’s lower back so he steps forward into the room. “Enjoy, Mr. Kogane.”

Keith glares at her, doesn’t even flicker his eyes towards his gift. Just mutters a dismissal, leading her to prompt Lance into the room before she’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

Lance prepares for the familiar feeling of a cling film blanket to return to them, expects Keith to wait for Lance to say the first word as always before they slowly start to make conversation.

Instead, Keith doesn't even look at him and instead speaks before him, “Do what you want, I’m not touching you.”

Lance watches as Keith walks over towards the bed before flopping down on it, picking up a book from the bedside table and begins to read.

He’s conflicted. Should he be offended or flattered that Keith didn’t recognise him? Was it because of the veil? Should Lance say something? If Lance didn’t  _ do  _ something then surely Lysandra would get mad?

His throat hurts. And he doesn’t know whether it’s from his injuries or because of the situation, but it’s tightening too. He doesn’t know if he could talk if he wanted to.

Seconds passed where Lance just stares at Keith, mind too frozen in mild shock to really consider anything other than the slightly uptilted eyes that scan the pages in front of him. The fall of his dark hair that seemed to grow wild whilst Lance had been isolated on the other side of the manor, the way his jaw had filled out just enough to compliment the high cheekbones, his shoulders not quite full but filling to foreshadow a broad and toned body beneath his tunic.

He certainly is the prettiest client Lance has had so far.

“What are you doing? You don’t have to stand there, you can do whatever you want.” He hadn’t realised Keith had lifted his eyes to look at him- not at him, at the wall behind him. Like he can’t quite bring himself to look at a whore. Had his eyes always been so violet? Surely the last time they saw each other Lance remembered them to be blue.

Was this fate’s crueller way of reminding Lance that he doesn't  _ really _ belong anywhere? That wherever he goes, he’ll always be reminded of past home he barely belonged too.

No. No, Lotor had been the one to gift Lance to Keith- had known that they’d recognise each other or… or just one of them would, perhaps. That would be all it took anyway. He was cruel like that.

Lance takes a step forward, the carpet plush between his bare toes, and another until he finds himself standing a metre or so away from Keith.

“What are you doing?” He growls. “I told you, I’m not going to touch you.”

And now, Lance decides, is as good a time as any.

“Aw c’mon Keith, are you telling me I’m not pretty enough for you?” A flash of recognition sweeps across Keith’s face as Lance pokes his hip to one side, his dress shifting so that a long, tan leg slips free from foot to hip. His voice had cracked a couple of times, and if it stays like this he knows he’s going to suffer because of it. Luckily, Keith doesn’t seem all that interested in how sexy he sounds.

“I… I never said-” is his stuttered reply, mouth gaping a little bit as his eyes move down the leg and up to Lance’s face again, brows furrowed as he obviously tries to figure out if this really is who he thinks it is. Obviously, he’d tried his hand at being a gentleman, and now the sway of Lance’s hips as he creeps closer is more than a little distracting. It makes plucking the book from Keith’s hands smoother, easier to close it and set it on the bedside table before nudging Keith’s legs to the side. He settles down to sit next to him, resting a gentle hand on his knee.

“You don’t… you don’t need to do anything,” Keith says, and that warms Lance’s heart a little bit. That his voice is deep and reassuring and Lance kinda’ wants to just slide his hand up his leg a little bit and ignore the fact that Keith might not want to sleep with somebody he knows.

Instead, he lifts his free hand up to take off the veil, tossing it to the bedside table to reveal a forced lopsided grin.

“No, but I kinda’ want to,” he admits with a chuckle, and this time it doesn’t hurt so much.

“Lance..” Keith jolts a little bit, sitting straight on the bed and staring with his mouth flapping a bit.

And this is new for Lance, because suddenly he can feel his bravado dying just a little bit. Usually he can keep his aura- keep the roll of his shoulders smooth and the curve of his lips sultry as he smiles for his client, even though he’d rather be anywhere else.

But here, with Keith’s flickering eyes and steadily increasing breathing, Lance just feels foolish.

“Uh-” says the Guild’s prettiest whore, pulling his hand away reluctantly. “Hi, Keith.”

“H-hey, Lance…” replies the Guild’s most notorious assassin, leaning forward eagerly. “How the- is this..? Why- wh-”

“Yeah,” Lance murmurs, eyes flicking down to the red carpet, answering all of Keith’s questions with one word.

“Oh, Lance..”

And the _emotion_ that Keith manages to pack into those words- the pity most of all- it rubs Lance the wrong way. Sure, this isn’t exactly the life he’d choose for himself. Sure, he hurts a lot and the girls that work here aren’t much for company… and it’ll take him a hell of a lot longer to pay his debts off now he has to pay _both_ Lotor and Lysandra. But somehow, he can’t stand the sorrow and pity that _drips_ from Keith’s words.

“Don’t,” he smiles. “I’m sure training with Lotor couldn’t have hurt you any less than it hurt me to train with Lysandra,” and to prove his point, or maybe just out of pure curiosity, Lance gently reaches for Keith’s right hand and tugs it towards him. He turns it over so his palm is facing up, running his fingers along the rough skin and calluses that make it feel like Lance is touching a brick wall- and Keith just  _ lets _ him. He just watches with still-wide eyes as Lance unbuttons the cuff of his shirt and slides the fabric up his arm. And sure enough, there they are. Several nasty looking scars that zig zag along his wrist, up his arm and near his elbow. Lance has to chew on his lip so he doesn’t say anything that could offend Keith too much. He knows his face gives him away, though. He’s always been the emotional one, wearing his heart on his sleeve.

The two of them weren’t blood brothers before Lance had left, but they were definitely close in perhaps another way. Close enough for the two of them to feel safe sat close together on Keith’s bedroom floor, sharing why it was living in this house scared them so much- close enough for the two of them to vow to each other that, when they could, they’d escape together.

“They look worse than they are,” Keith finally says, breaking Lance out of his trance so he can snort. It hurts, and he hides his wince behind a smile.

“ _ Now  _ they do. They must have hurt like crazy when he did it though..” He runs the pads of his fingers over the scar tissue, then slides them down to Keith’s hand, slowly twining their fingers together. They sit like that for a moment, holding hands, studying each other. There’s music playing somewhere in the building, neither of them knows where from, but it makes the silence easy.

Lance doesn’t think the silence could be anything  _ but  _ easy. It’s like they’d seen each other this morning, and the things that happened over the past several years had happened over the course of a day. The only difference, Lance found, was the look Keith was giving him. It was the familiar fond and gentle rake of his eyes over Lance, over his face and his hands, but there was something more. Less familial and more… tender. Passionate. Not necessarily lustful, but it was almost as if there was a flicker of electric that sparked when their eyes met. Or perhaps that had always been there and Lance hadn’t really seen it for what it was until now? Now that he’d been introduced to the idea of _ different  _ relationships. Now that he had learned the difference between love, lust and lies.

It’s  _ nice _ ; the way they’re holding hands and simply remembering each other’s faces. Until Keith’s eyes crawl across Lance’s neck, and his brows furrow at the discolouration.

Lifting his free hand up, he swipes his finger against the concealer one of the ladies had applied to his neck and Lance hisses and flinches.

“Shit, sorry-” he tightens his hold on Lance’s hand, who shakes his head.  _ It’s okay. _

The assassin frowns and shifts his head to look at his finger and studies the make-up, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger before touching Lance’s neck again- gently this time.

“Keith, don’t-” Lance says when he realises what’s happening. But Keith ignores him, using the cuff of his sleeve to gently dab at the make-up, wiping it off to reveal the real colour of Lance’s throat.

He wilts. Keith’s body visibly sags, his eyes crinkling a little at the corners as he looks at the swarm of yellow, purple and black bruising along delicate skin. Lance sees pale fingers shake, gently settling his hand on the crook of his neck and shoulder, thumb smoothing along his jawline tenderly despite the fire that’s crackling in his eyes.

“Who..?”

The brunette doesn’t say anything at first, chewing on his lip even though Lysandra smacks him around the head for ruining the natural softness of them. Keith’s thumb twitches towards them though, before gently pressing on his bottom lip so he unlatches his teeth from it.

“Who did this to you?” Keith murmurs, and Lance feels sick just thinking about it.

“It doesn’t matter.” He says, because even thinking about it turns his stomach over the wrong way.

“Lance.” And his hand settles on his shoulder so he can squeeze it without hurting him. “Tell me..”

“It doesn’t matter- sometimes people are rough with me. It wasn’t the first time and it won’t be the last- it happens.”

And that wasn’t what Keith had wanted to hear- his face tightens and now the silence is deafening. It lasts for over a minute; Keith’s eyes moving to try and see if there’s anymore make-up concealing any more bruises. It warms Lance’s heart.

“Have you ever kissed anybody, Keith?” He asks, and his warm heart quickly starts racing at his own question. He knows _ exactly  _ why he wants to know the answer.

And with the way that Keith’s eyes seem to search Lance’s, the way they seem to find something there as they look at each other, he knows he does too.

“No..” Keith says carefully. “Haven’t had the chance to kiss the person I wanted to just yet.”

“No?” Lance makes a small show of acting surprised, but subtly edges closer. “And… have there been many people you’ve wanted to kiss?”

“Just the one.”

Keith’s eyes don’t leave Lance’s. His heart skips.

“And who would that be?”

Their eyes start to flicker, watching each other look at each other’s lips.

“There was this boy who used to watch me train a few years ago… he was pretty cute.”

Lance scoffs, “ _ Was  _ pretty cute?” 

And Keith doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah. Now he’s stunning.” He edges closer. “Beautiful.”

The brunette swallows, blue eyes now trained on pink, bitten down lips. “And that’s the only reason why you want to kiss him?”

“He used to tell me stories about his family in the orphanage he was born in. He’d come look for me in the garden maze when he knew I was hiding because I was upset. Gave me some of his ointment tins for my cuts and bruises even though he practically slept with them.” Lance snorts and Keith smiles. “He would sneak out of his room to lie on my bedroom floor with me and tell me everything he would do if he had the riches of a King.. tell me that he’d run away and.. and take me with him.” Keith’s smile fades so he can swallow, eyes now trained on Lance’s eyes. “He’s the reason I didn’t run away whenever I could. Whenever I saw an opening, a chance to steal enough money to keep me alive alone… I’d stay for him. And when he was taken away from me, I looked for him, looked all over the city, but never knew he was just next door.”

They’re quiet, a breath away from bumping their noses together, so quiet that Lance hears Keith swallow before he starts to speak again. “Lance, I-”

But Lance moves, presses his lips against the assassin’s and closes his eyes, still seeing light behind his eyelids when Keith starts to press back.

Now, his heart is thundering. Galloping. It’s running away without him. Running out the door and down the hall and tries to dart out the house, but the way Keith moves his lips and starts to kiss him more has it running right back. It runs right back and into his hands, ready for him to give away.

And he does. Lance lifts his hands to curl around the back of the other boy’s neck, pushing forward, giving himself and his heart over to Keith. With the way that Keith seems to gasp and wrap his arms around Lance’s waist, pressing closer, it feels as though Lance has his heart too.

“I’ve been wondering what your lips would feel like ever since that night we promised to run away together,” Keith whispers.

“The night we fell asleep on your bedroom floor holding hands?” Lance smiled against him.

“That’s the one.” Keith smiles back.

They meet for another kiss, Lance leaning forward to push his hand up the other’s thigh almost instinctively, but this time he doesn’t shy away from the way Keith leans into the touch, pushing his leg forward. Lance doesn’t flinch this time when the other man cups his jaw with one hand and rests his other on his waist. 

If anything, it makes coaxing Keith into lying down a lot easier- makes crawling between his knees and over him to brush their lips together a whole lot easier than it is with other customers-

Customers.

Lance pauses, hands framing Keith’s face but his lips hovering a couple centimetres above the other’s. Keith’s eyes are closed, his jaw tilted upwards, waiting for the press of their lips but-

“Hey.”

He feels thumbs run across his cheeks, feels tears burn behind his eyelids.

“Hey,” Keith says again, softer. “Lance, look at me.”

It takes a lot for the brunette to blink away the moisture as he opens his eyes, looking down at the man beneath him. It burns his chest to see Keith look so worried, see the pinch in his brow, so he forces a smile. Though that seems to only make Keith frown more.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he murmurs. He shifts them, to gently rest Lance on the bed beside him, moving his touch down the brown skin of his neck and shoulders to hold his hands.

“It doesn’t feel right,” Lance whispers, squeezing Keith’s hands. “Not here. Not when Lotor has paid for…”

Keith squeezes his hands again, bringing him back a little, telling Lance with his midnight eyes that he understands. That he agrees.

“Maybe another time. Another place. When I’ve taken you away from here.”

“If you take me away from here.” He hadn’t meant to sound cruel or sarcastic, and Keith seems to realise this. He squeezes his hands firmly, forcing Lance to really look at him. To really listen.

“ _ When _ , Lance.  _ When  _ we run away together.”

 

-

 

Lance trusts Keith. Would trust him with his life and more.

He trusted him the night he promised to steal him away, to take them someplace safe and far away from Lotor and the Guild. He still trusts him- now enough to pack what little belongings he has and keep them tucked in the furthest corner of his closet. Waiting. Waiting to sling over his shoulder for a quick getaway when Keith comes for him.

Lance is willing to give it all up on Keith’s word, on his signal.

 

-

 

The letter comes on the morning of one of his very few days away from his duties- an envelope made from red dyed parchment and addressed to him in black ink. He opens it to find several red peony petals flutter through his fingers and onto the carpet by his toes.

 

Whilst the music pulses through the mansion late that night, Lance pries himself away from the company of an overzealous rich man with wandering hands to excuse himself for a bathroom break.

He slinks into the privy, letting loose a relieved sigh to find his bag and cloak untampered with and safe beneath the sink. Swinging them around his shoulders, he slips through the windows and sweeps his way through the gardens he’s missed so much. His cloak billows behind him as he glides through the familiar path of the maze, the pounding of his heart in his ears only growing louder when he turns the final corner and sees-

Keith. Sat on the edge of a bowl-shaped fountain, a red peony twirling between his fingers and smiling up at him.

“You kept me waiting.”

It takes all of Lance’s will not to push him into the fountain, and instead to tug him down from it and into a bruising kiss.

“I’m sure the wait was worth it?”

Keith’s smile only broadens, and it’s the way his cheeks dimple and his eyes glitter with what Lance can only describe as  _ love _ that Lance decides that yeah. This is a much better life than he’d expected for himself.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> lance was going to be a Sam Courtland character lmaooooo i couldnt do that to myself  
> the big au i have planned for this is a situation where they both meet in the trials to become the king's champion and i muuuuch prefer that (chaol!shiro and dorian!allura???? yes pls)  
> who knows if I'll ever get around to writing that tho
> 
> yell at me here  
> tumblr: nikarte.tumblr.com  
> snapchat: nikki_postz


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